Page 2 of Stealing the Biker

She won’t care that it’s for a job. Sabrina hates that I’m prospecting. The only reason she somewhat tolerates it at all is because it keeps her close to her best friend, Ember. They’ve been attached at the hip since grade school. They do everything together.

Ember is Prodigy’s sister and in a relationship with Smoke. A dude that’s too damn old for her, but they make their relationship work.

My cell vibrates and I’m sure it’s with a text from my woman, wondering if I’m meeting her for lunch.

This will be the third time in the past week that I’ve stood her up. I know her patience is wearing thin and that she’s tired of hearing I’m busy with the club.

I don’t have a choice, though. The alternative would be telling Link no and I can’t do that.

My relationship may be doomed, but I’ll do whatever it takes to make the cut. There’s nothing I want more than to be patched in. Even if it means putting the club before my girl. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make if I have to choose.

Growing up, I never fit in with anyone, but here in Charleston, with the club, is where I belong. I can feel it deep in my bones that this is home. I’m meant for this.

Sabrina’s going to have to make her peace with the life I want to live if she wants to be with me.

As soon as I start my truck, as if she can sense I’m thinking about her, my phone blows up with notifications for missed calls. The last thing I need is her riding my ass again about putting the club before her, but I already know I’m going to catch hell from her no matter what I do.

I decline the call and fire off a text.

Can’t talk right now. I’m in the middle of something for the club.

Are we still on for lunch?

Not today.

The text bubbles move, then stop several times. She’s no doubt typing and deleting her response. I don’t have time to wait or to argue. It’s better to ask for forgiveness later than permissionnow. From what I’ve heard about this asshole ex of Zoe’s, the guy is a real douche.

I get another message from Link telling me what high school to be at and where to meet Kiesha.

I didn’t want to attend class when I was in school for real and I damn sure don’t want to repeat my senior year. However, this is important, and I need the brothers of the club to see that I’m reliable. That they can depend on me for anything.

Clipping my phone back into the handless holder stuck tot eh dashboard, I rev my engine and leave the clubhouse. My first destination is stopping off at a drugstore to grab a few school supplies that will aid in making my cover believable. A couple of notebooks and pens, along with a basic black backpack.

Thinking of returning to school is like going back to my own personal hell. Boring as fuck classes, pointless drama, gross food, and even nastier bathrooms. Is there anything worse than being forced to attend school when you graduated three years ago? Bile churns in the pit of my stomach. I’ve not even had breakfast yet.

I swing through a drive-thru and scarf down a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit on the way.

Maybe I should have grabbed Kiesha something, but I don’t know anything about her other than what I’ve heard in passing, which isn’t much.

School is the last fucking place I want to be, but proving myself to the club motivates me to do whatever is necessary.

After parking my truck a few blocks away, I lockup my truck and sling the backpack over my left shoulder, hoping I look like a student as I walk toward the school. Most of my tattoos are hidden by my leather jacket. I should have shaved. I meet up with Kiesha at the back entrance of the school. She’s even more gorgeous in person, and I shouldn’t be gawking at her when Ihave a girlfriend. Never mind the fact I graduated nearly three years ago.

I have no business being here, but I have my orders.

She gives me a once-over and rolls her eyes. “You must be Jimmy.”

And you must be trouble. She’s too cute for her own good and mine.

I take in her appearance.

Pure temptation that has me wondering Sabrina who.

She’s wearing a cream-colored frilly dress that has tiny pink flowers printed on it with a denim jacket and brown boots and a baby pink ribbon that matches her dress tied in her hair.

“Guess that makes you Kiesha.”

“I don’t need a babysitter. I can handle myself.”

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